


Valuable Qualities of the Mind

by punchdrunkard (twopunch)



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Chess, Community: areyougame, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopunch/pseuds/punchdrunkard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferrus Manus can see this part of Fulgrim better than Fulgrim sees it himself. Or, Fulgrim is easily distracted.</p><p>Prompt: <i>Warhammer 40K, Ferrus Manus, Fulgrim: Blind to someone else's feelings - A game of chess.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Valuable Qualities of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is like a PWP but extra purposeless! I barely remember playing chess so I apologise for the chess strategy/philosophy abuse.
> 
> Written for the [areyougame community](http://areyougame.dreamwidth.org/) fic challenge 2012. Midnight beta by the ever-patient [prettymanly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prettymanly/pseuds/prettymanly).

\-----

 _When you see a good move, wait – look for a better one._ — Emanuel Lasker

\-----

In the interim, before the Emperor’s fleets left Terra to spread the Imperial Truth, Fulgrim and Ferrus could often be found in the West Gardens of the Palace, seated across from each other at one of the low, stone tables scattered amongst the rose bushes and staring with intense concentration at today’s game between them. It was taken as a sign of their close friendship, sealed so dramatically by their impromptu contest at the forges. Few realised that the competition was far from over.

Fulgrim was familiar with many games from many worlds; he’d even invented a few of his own on Chemos before the arrival of the Emperor. He was a consummate player of all of them, of course, so his greatest challenge was finding an opponent that was his equal. Only Horus and the Emperor enjoyed games of strategy as much as he had. His other brothers proved less than enthusiastic at the game table, or perhaps just with him. The appearance of Ferrus Manus, their newest brother, caused Fulgrim equal parts joy and consternation: Ferrus was willing to play against Fulgrim every day, but he was unfamiliar with all the games Fulgrim knew. Ferrus’s blunt manner did not bode well either as a suitable partner.

The face Ferrus wore was an embodiment of his adopted homeworld. Impenetrable and implacable, scarred by the harsh demands of a merciless life. It wasn’t that Medusans didn’t have games, Ferrus had told him, they were just played differently. When Fulgrim tried to probe further, the Gorgon became the Sphinx. It was one of the many smaller, more subtle contests between them.

And so started Fulgrim’s campaign to break his brother’s defenses, a game that pleased him well to play it. That Ferrus would turn out to be a wily old goat pleased Fulgrim and his pride less well.

Fulgrim discovered soon enough that the mind behind the stony visage was not disappointing, as he had feared. It should not have been a surprise. Survival demanded intelligence and foresight. One had to understand the situation, observe the obstacles, develop a strategy, and then have the patience to wait and see.

“It makes me feel nostalgic,” said Ferrus as he stared down at the chessboard between them, “to be thinking of survival even within the walls of the Emperor’s Palace.” He pondered his next move against Fulgrim, lifted a hand hesitantly, put it back down.

Fulgrim watched as Ferrus finally picked up the rook Fulgrim had left a path for during a move three turns back. Perfect, Fulgrim thought as he lured Ferrus into his endgame. Ferrus’s silver fingers gleamed with sunlight as they grasped the fortress made of glass, rolling the fragile object back and forth.

Fulgrim liked those hands, though his brother was reluctant to discuss them in detail. They were the one thing about Ferrus that looked delicate. With them Ferrus was, in Fulgrim’s opinion, a juxtapose of artifice as beautiful as one made by a master artisan and of jagged mountain stone carved by nature’s cruel cuts. His brother rivaled any work of art in Fulgrim’s galleries. To see those hands in motion, to watch as Ferrus used them to make and unmake at will, stripped to the waist and sweating from no flame as he bent metal with the lightest touch -- those hands were downright distracting, and Ferrus knew it.

With a frown of annoyance, Fulgrim decided to change his approach, shifting his plan from one that would neatly cut out Ferrus’s king with scalpel precision to one that would slaughter the king’s army around him first. Perhaps it was a little childish to trounce a beginner player so thoroughly, but then, Fulgrim took his games seriously indeed. Removing a piece from the board just to fondle it with those fascinating hands was not proper etiquette.

“Check,” Fulgrim said, moving his queen into place. Ferrus might think himself subtle, but it would take more than shiny things to disturb Fulgrim’s focus. Fulgrim loved his brother, but he also liked winning.

“This is similar to something we have on Medusa, actually,” Ferrus said, his voice barely above a murmur. Fulgrim leaned forward slightly to listen, glancing between the board, the rolling rook in Ferrus’s right hand, and... Ferrus’s left hand. Which was cast a rosy pink as the setting sun snuck over the walls of the garden, giving it the appearance of flesh. His fingers flashed as they tugged at the leather ties of his dark shirt.

“Oh?” Fulgrim said intelligently as Ferrus removed his shirt and tossed it past Fulgrim’s head.

Ferrus rolled the bottom of the rook against his lips, eyes on the board. “Yes, the rules are identical, only the setup is different.” Ferrus held the piece between his lips as he levered himself half out of his seat and undid his belt buckle.

“Oh?” Fulgrim repeated as he stared across the table, plans slipping from his mind as swiftly as Ferrus’s pants slipped off. “What are you doing?”

“Competition is a way of life for us,” Ferrus continued, his words plodding steadily on. He ignored Fulgrim’s question and reseated himself, slipping his feet back into his shoes. The rook was in his right hand again, and he put it back into play nonchalantly, advancing it two spaces forward on the board. “We adapt our approaches, use what advantages we can without hesitation. Survival is the same as winning. Your move, Fulgrim.”

“But how is the game different?” It was getting hard to follow the thread of the conversation in his confused state. Fulgrim knew he was staring, but now Ferrus was leaning back and Fulgrim couldn’t help but follow that movement with his own body, straining to catch Ferrus’s words. Fulgrim moved a knight, taking Ferrus’s bishop. The glass pieces chimed as Fulgrim knocked them into each other harder than intended, his fingers slipping with haste and sweat.

A smile quirked one corner of Ferrus’s mouth. He drew his right leg up, folded tightly so his heel braced against the edge of his seat. Another game piece was dangling between those fingers, arm resting on the upraised knee. Fulgrim hardly noticed.

“To begin with, it’s much more physical,” Ferrus said.

“In... what way?”

“You could imagine it like a full-contact sport. Your turn.”

Fulgrim made a small noise in his throat. He had been blessed -- or cursed -- with a prodigious imagination. He advanced his pawn, switched it into a second queen. “But you still use a board?”

“You could say it’s played _on_ a board. Or maybe more on a table. I saw people play under a table, once.” Ferrus cocked his hips, shifting deeper into a wanton sprawl. “Didn’t seem nearly as fun as on top. Turn.”

Fulgrim’s hands were gripping the edge of their table. He pried one loose and took another of Ferrus’s piece off the board with a vicious ring of glass on glass. “Check,” he said. It came out in a deep growl.

“Hm.” Ferrus chuckled. Fulgrim watched the muscles on Ferrus’s stomach ripple. The stone table protested under the convulsive clench of Fulgrim's hands.

Suddenly, Ferrus sat up, his relaxed posture falling off faster than day had turned to night as he moved his rook again. A full grin spread over his face, slow and steady as his voice. “Ah, checkmate. I believe that makes us even.”


End file.
